ANZAC Day
by Master of The Blood Wolves
Summary: A short one-shot about how I think an ANZAC day would go in the Temeraire universe.


**ANZAC DAY**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the **_**Temeraire**_** series, they belong to Subterranean Press and Naomi Novik.  
****Nor do I own the rights to the poem **_**In Flanders's Fields,**_** by John McRae.**

'Rise and shine Zeph.' Said Richard Wilson with a yawn.  
'Five more minutes.' Murmured the young Winchester sleepily, and tried to curl himself around tighter.  
'You can sleep later, come on, or we'll miss the dawn service.' Wilson said, shaking Zephyr gently as he shrugged his green aviator dress coat on.  
It was a chilly morning, and he would've given his left arm to wear his fur-lined raincoat instead, but his sense of respect for the occasion had prohibited him.

'Fine.' Grumbled Zephyr, standing and stretching himself, less than a year old, Zephyr wasn't yet at his full growth, but he was bidding fair to making a very respectable three tonnes or so, and being of the same line of some fair sized members of the breed didn't hurt those chances. 'Just remind me why we're getting up at five thirty for this again?' He asked grumpily.  
'It's ANZAC Day, Zephyr,' Wilson said. 'We're going up to that memorial up near the big pavilion to pay our respects to the men and women who've died fighting in the wars Australia has been involved in over the years.'  
Zephyr gave a mumbled affirmative and yawned wide again.

'I don't see why we have to get up so early for it.' He grumbled, as Wilson slung his flying harness over Zephyr's back and began busily doing up the buckles.  
'Zeph, it's a mark of respect; we just run the courier circuit, a lot of brave aviators and dragons have fallen fighting all around the world over the years so we could live our lives peacefully here; So, every year on April twenty-five, we take the time to remember their sacrifice.' Wilson said. 'And think: every soldier,-human and dragon,-who fought and still fights go through a lot worse than just an early morning every now and again.'  
'I guess.' Zephyr said unconvinced, as Wilson lead the Winchester to a water trough so they could both take a drink to wake up properly.  
'Just remember, keep quiet, and I'll answer your questions afterward.' Wilson said, just before Zephyr launched themselves into the air, and headed for the grand old pavilion that overlooked the small Blue Mountain covert.

* * *

They landed with five minutes before the service started, and already there were many more aviators with their dragons in attendance, as well as some of the local farmers and town's folk, many of them looking fresher than Wilson felt.

'Hey, Richard!' Called one of the other aviator Captains, a compact little man by the name of Bill Rankin, a great-great-great grandson to the first commander of the Sydney covert.  
Him, and his own young charge, a Crowned Nettle of Kulingile's get, were also in attendance, and Wilson lead Zephyr over.

'Now, this is a very solemn occasion, so you can't be calling out during it, or talking with Indomitus during it.' Wilson admonished Zephyr once more, after the little Winchester was done greeting his several-times larger friend.

'Why are we up so early for this anyway? Couldn't they have held this at a more reasonable hour?' Indomitus asked plaintively, drawing scandalised looks from some of the town's folk, many of them relatives to someone who's name was graven on the memorial before them.  
'Indomitus, please, keep your questions to yourself, I'll answer them later.' Rankin said hurriedly.

Wilson couldn't help but feel sorry for the man, although he himself couldn't help but feel envious: He was only a couple of years younger than Bill, but having no prior connections to the Corps, which might have stood him to inherit a dragon, or failing that, put him in a good position to get a heavy-weight like Indomitus; instead, he'd earned the right to try for a hatchling on merit, and had harnessed Zephyr, and wouldn't trade the young dragon for anything, even if he was a little annoyed at the dated system of promotion the Corps ran on.

He shook off such musings and stood at attention as the flag was raised to half-mast, he heard Zephyr draw breath to ask a question, but covertly nudged the little Winchester to silence.  
That having been done, one of the men from the local Army Reserve began playing _'The Last Post'_.  
Then there was the minute's silence as the sun began to rise.

A quick glance showed him that Zephyr was sitting on his haunches, resolutely keeping his mouth shut, and Wilson made a mental note to give the young dragon a cow that day for recognising the seriousness of the situation, and staying quiet.

Then he returned to contemplating the memorial:  
There were a total of thirty-nine names there,-some were abreast with others, these being aviators and their dragons.  
Wilson gazed sadly at some of them:  
J. Rankin and Caesar.  
H. Ferris and Redemptian  
J. Brendon.  
P. Wilson.

The list went on, chiselled from a single huge slab of polished black granite, and much of its surface was as yet empty.  
_How many more names will there be added to this list in years to come?_ Wondered Wilson, his own great grandfather was there, along with Bill's. _Will we one day be added to that list of names?_

He was snapped from further morbid thoughts as the bugler began playing the second half of _'The Last Post'_.  
And when that was done, Captain Gerald McMaster, the local Army commander gave the traditional reading from the poem '_In Flanders's Fields'_:

'_In Flanders fields the poppies blow  
__Between the crosses, row on row,  
__That mark our place; and in the sky  
__The larks, still bravely singing, fly  
__Scarce heard amid the guns below. _

_We are the Dead. Short days ago  
__We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,  
__Loved and were loved, and now we lie,  
__In Flanders fields. _

_Take up our quarrel with the foe:  
__To you from failing hands we throw  
__The torch; be yours to hold it high.  
__If ye break faith with us who die  
__We shall not sleep, though poppies grow  
__In Flanders fields.'_

__Then, McMaster recited the Ode to Remembrance: 'They do not grow old, as we who are left grow old. At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we will remember them. Lest we Forget.' McMaster said.

'Lest we Forget.' Repeated Wilson, along with all the assembled, including the dragons of some of the other captains in the covert:  
Dragons over a year old for the most part, who'd had the meaning behind the ceremony explained to them.  
The ceremony over, a wreath was laid at the base of the memorial, and people began to depart.

'I'll explain the ceremony in full back at the covert.' Wilson said to Zephyr, who looked positively bursting with questions.  
'_We_ will answer your questions, Bill amended. Indomitus and Zephyr looked equally as curious as one another, and together the two of them often asked such perceptive questions as to stump one captain or the other, and on more than one occasion, both of them together.  
'But first up, I'm sure you're both hungry, so let's go back to the covert and we'll see to getting you two fed.' Wilson suggested. 'It's what everyone else will be doing, so maybe you can ask Tharunka some about the ceremony, way I heard it, she's attended every one since they started nearly a hundred years ago.' Wilson suggested.  
This notion pleased the two young dragons, and soon they were back at the covert, and were quite happy to ask questions, leaving Bill and Wilson to reflect on their own forebears' tales.

**This is just a short one-shot.**

**I'd be very surprised if ANZAC day didn't happen in the Temeraire universe, and I'm sure it'd be a little tricky involving dragons and I felt it deserved a short passage of it's own, and I'll let readers make up their own minds regarding the individual little stories involved.**


End file.
